


Time and Again

by Diana Williams (dkwilliams)



Category: Highlander: The Series, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/Diana%20Williams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stop me if you've heard this one," the man said, dropping into a seat across from Methos.  "Two Immortals meet in a bar…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lferion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/gifts).



Nineteen-forty-one was turning out to be a bugger of a year, Methos thought as he warily backed away from his challenger as the air raid sirens keened through the air. He moved slowly and carefully, both to favor his injured leg and to give the gash in his thigh time to heal. His opponent, however, seemed to have other ideas as he pressed forward, and Methos swung his sword up in barely enough time to prevent a fatal slash across his chest. He managed to force his opponent back but it took more energy than he could spare, since he was still losing blood in a steady flow from his leg wound. From now on, he told himself grimly, he would carry a gun – shoot first and ask questions second, too. If he managed to survive.

His challenger seemed to know that he was weakening, grinning as he moved in for the killing blow. Methos braced himself for one last volley – and then a shout from the mouth of the alley distracted his opponent and made Methos utter a prayer of thanks under his breath. At this point, he didn't care if it was the police or one of the section wardens. A night in jail was preferable to dying.

The man who'd shouted began running down the alley towards them, and Methos could see the glint of light off a hand weapon. His challenger glared at Methos but sheathed his weapon and ran for the stack of boxes at the end of the alley, clambering up them and over the wall. Methos sheathed his own sword, sucking in air to try to keep from passing out. Death would be very inconvenient right now.

"Damn, he got away!" the man said, his accent distinctly American, and Methos breathed a sigh of relief. Unlikely to be the local authorities, then; more than likely, one of the American military stationed in England.

"Thanks," Methos said, reaching out to steady himself on the wall. "Saved my life."

"Least I could do," the man said with a shrug, then moved quickly to Methos' side. "Damn, you're hurt. We need to get you to a hospital."

Methos shook his head. "I'm fine. Just winded, a few little cuts. Some plasters and I'll be good as ever."

The man looked at him dubiously. "If you say so, pal, but you need to get off your feet. Do you live around here?"

Methos shook his head. "My house is across town."

"You won't get a taxi now. Look, I've taken a room right across the street. It's not much, but you could rest, have a drink, and wait out the air raid there." The man smiled, an extremely charming smile, and in the half-light of the alley, Methos could see that he was a devastatingly handsome man. He held out his hand. "Captain Jack Harkness, at your service."

Methos drew in a sharp breath and his eyes narrowed as he quickly considered his options. There weren't many, and he was, admittedly, curious. A fatal flaw of his, and one that would probably lead to his undoing some day. "I don’t have much choice, so it appears I'll have to trespass on your hospitality. Pierce Adamson, by the way."

"Delighted to meet you," Harkness said, taking his hand. Methos almost expected him to kiss it; instead, he pulled Methos' arm so that it rested over his shoulder and helped him leave the alley.

Harkness' rooms were on the second floor of the rooming house, a fact he apologized for as he helped Methos up the stairs. Once there, he eased Methos into a chair and rubbed his hands briskly together.

"Now then, should I put on the kettle for a cup of tea, or would you prefer the whiskey? Oh, and let me grab the first aid kit and take a look at those injuries of yours."

Harkness disappeared down the hallway, and when he returned, he seemed only a little surprised to see that Methos had pulled his sword. He sighed. "I thought I saw swords, but then, this is the twentieth century, not the fifteenth, so I thought I must have been mistaken. I have to warn you, though – I don't have much money on me."

"I don't know who you really are," Methos said, "but I'd be obliged if you'd take out your weapon, put it on the floor, and slide it toward me." The man's forehead crinkled but he complied. "Right. Now sit in that chair and tell me just what your game is."

Not-Harkness sat down, a beautifully puzzled look on his face, but Methos could see the edge underneath. "I don't know what you mean."

"I met Captain Harkness, the _real_ Captain Harkness, last week when I briefed him on his next mission," Methos said coolly. "Perhaps I should have mentioned that I'm with military intelligence."

Not-Harkness let out an exasperated groan and dropped his head against the back of his chair. "Damn! Of all the luck – in London for one day, and I run into someone to blow the whole deal to bits." He lifted his head back up and met Methos' hard stare with a charming smile. "Look, I promise you that I'm not a spy or anything like that. The truth is, I'm a con man, but I'm not doing anything that would hurt you or your people. I'm – well, I'm trying to get something out of _my_ people, and I needed to borrow an identity from your time to set it up. Once the deal is done, I'll be off and neither you nor your people will see me again. I won't do anything to harm Captain Harkness or his reputation, I promise."

Methos frowned. "You admit you're a con man, but you say you're not going to do anything to hurt anyone? Isn't that a bit of a contradiction?" He figured he should know, having been a con artist himself, in the past.

Not-Harkness sighed. "It's – okay, you're not going to believe me, but I'm from the future. I'm a Time Agent from the 51st century. The Time Agency stole two years of memories from me, and I'm just trying to get them to give them back."

"And coming to this time period is going to make them do that?" Methos said, skeptically.

Not-Harkness shrugged. "I'm offering them a deal they can't pass up." His eyes narrowed as he said, "Wait. You believe me?"

"That you're from the future? No. That you're a con man? Yes."

Not-Harkness' eyes narrowed. "Seems you're not entirely on the up and up, either. Not many people from this time period carry swords and have clandestine sword fights in dark alleys. Either you're an Anachronist who's a little too obsessed with his hobby – although, come to think of it, they're a couple decades from now – or you're an Immortal."

Methos went still. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Not-Harkness gestured towards his leg. "You have a blood-stained gash in your pants, but you're not bleeding out on my rug. Now, maybe it's just stopped bleeding, but I'd be willing to bet that if you took off those pants, I wouldn't find as much of a scratch on your leg. Which would make you one of those 'There Can Only Be One' guys, running around and cutting each others' heads off."

"Are you a Watcher?" Methos asked sharply. "Let me see your wrists."

Not-Harkness held up his hands, displaying tattoo-free wrists. "Watching is boring. I'd much rather be doing," he added with a leer.

Methos ignored the look and the distinctly pleasurably feeling it stirred inside him. "You're from the future."

Not-Harkness nodded and leaned back in his chair. "Yep. So can you put away the fancy knife now?"

"Very well." Methos sheathed his sword. "Tea would be nice, whiskey would be even better."

Not-Harkness burst out laughing.

************

Whatever else he might be, Not-Harkness was a fun drunk. As the whiskey poured, he began spinning stories about the places he'd been and the aliens he'd known, in the Biblical sense of the word. As there was nothing Methos liked better than a good story-teller, he let himself be swept into the con-man's impossible fantasies, and threw out a couple tales of his own adventures, slightly embellished as well. His story about Byron and the goat had made Jack laugh so hard that he'd fallen out of his chair, lying on his back on the floor, laughing. Methos was drunk enough to think that was a fine idea, so he'd ended up on the floor as well.

Catching his breath, he rolled on his side and surveyed his still chuckling companion. Jack copied his movement, rolling on his side to face Methos, and his chuckles died away although his smile didn't.

"Hello," he said, his voice low and sultry, and Methos' groin tightened in response.

"Hello," he said back, leaning over to press his lips against Jack's.

Jack was quick to respond, wrapping his arm around Methos' waist and pulling him close until they were pressed against each other full length. Methos could feel Jack's hard length pressing against his thigh, and he knew that Jack could feel his own arousal as well.

He pulled back just enough to say, "This is a bad idea."

Jack grinned and pulled him close, kissing him quick and dirty. "Sex is never a bad idea."

Methos decided that Jack had a point. The kissing quickly degenerated to hot and dirty, clothes disappearing the longer they kissed. It had been a couple of decades since he'd let himself become intimate with a man and he'd almost forgotten how heady it was to be with someone just as strong as he was.

He pulled Jack on top of him, reveling in the friction of their naked bodies against each other. Jack's stories might have been fantasy, but his love-making skills were not exaggerated. Within minutes, Methos was shouting out his climax, and he was vaguely aware that Jack was also shuddering above him.

"Damn, that was good," Jack said after a few minutes of catching their breath, "but I think we can do better."

Methos couldn't help laughing again as Jack dragged him up off the floor and towards the bedroom. Yes, this was definitely a bad idea – and he should have more of them, he decided as he pushed Jack down on the bed and proceeded to show him exactly what a five-thousand-year-old man could do.

***********

In the morning, on the street outside the rooming house, Methos hailed a taxi and Jack held the door of the taxi open for him.

"I wish we had more time, but I've got to see a Time Agent about a spaceship," Jack said with a sigh.

Methos felt the same regret and, on impulse said, "Meet me again."

Jack blinked. "Sure. When?"

"In ten years. If we're both still around." He gestured towards the bar on the corner, where he'd started the previous evening. "There, at that bar, ten years from last night. Say – seven o'clock?"

Jack hesitated, then looked down at the brown strap on his wrist and smiled. "Sure. Seven o'clock, ten years from last night. I'll be there."

Methos smiled and got into the taxi, turning to watch Jack from the back window until he appeared to disappear from sight. He turned forward, smiling even as he felt the minor aches and pains from a night of passion start to fade. For the first time in centuries, he felt like he had something to look forward to.

*********************

Methos took a sip of his beer and glanced at the clock on the wall for the hundredth time in the past hour. Jack Harkness was late, and it was entirely possible that he was not coming.

He sighed and took another sip. He knew he should have expected it. The man was a con artist and as to his claim of being from the future… Methos had half-believed it, but it was possible that had been a lie as well. He'd just finish his beer and then head home.

Another beer appeared on the table in front of him and someone plopped down in the chair opposite. "Sorry I'm late. I could make up some fancy excuse but the fact of the matter is, I forgot."

Methos looked up to see Jack Harkness sitting in the chair opposite him, his usual charming smile on his face. "You _forgot_? It's only been ten years."

Jack shrugged. "It seemed longer. Much, much longer," he added in a low tone that Methos assumed he was not meant to hear.

Methos studied Jack as he took a drink of what appeared to be water. There was something off about the man, something different. He'd thought a lot about that night ten years ago, but he didn't think he'd forgotten that much. That Jack had been…lighter, carefree. Oh, he'd been a con man, out for what he could get, but Methos had been there and he wasn't inclined to judge. This Jack seemed older in some indefinable way, and darker, as if he'd been through a world of hurt and disillusionment in the past ten years.

"We can call it off, if you'd like," he offered.

Jack shook his head. "Oddly enough, I'd rather not. I could use a night to just forget it all." He looked around at the bar. "But not here, if you don't mind. I've taken a room across the way. The same one, as a matter of fact." He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Unless _you'd_ rather not."

Methos drained the last of his beer and stood up. "Lead on."

Once they were in Jack's rooms, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured them each a healthy measure. "To old friends and acquaintances," he said, lifting his glass.

Methos lifted his glass in return, took a sip, then set it down. "All right, Jack, what's the matter? You're practically broody tonight, and that's not like the Jack I remember."

Jack gave a short bark of laughter, more bitter than humorous. "There's not much left of the Jack you knew. I seem to have developed a case of what ails _you_."

Methos frowned, re-evaluating the man in front of him. "You're not an Immortal. I'd be able to tell if you were."

Jack shook his head. "Not your kind of Immortal, but immortal all the same. Something happened to me, and now I can't die. Well, I can die, but I don't _stay_ dead. I've been shot, stabbed, poisoned, beaten, beheaded, and drowned. I come back, every damn time. Sound familiar?"

"All but the beheading – none of us comes back from that."

Jack didn't seem to be handling immortality well, something he'd seen before among the newly Immortal. Methos reached out to grasp Jack's shoulder, offering what comfort he could. "I wish I could help. I can tell you that there are some benefits, but you already know about those. And I expect you've seen the down side of being immortal."

"I lose everyone," Jack said bleakly. "They all grow old and die, leaving me behind."

Methos nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the other man, a little puzzled that he could have experienced such loss in only ten years. "Yes, but while they're here, you can love them, cherish them, celebrate the life they have. I've been married to mortals more than sixty times, and I've loved each of them and, yes, mourned them when they died."

Jack shook his head. "I can't do that. I tried, once, and it hurt too much. I can't do it again."

"If you can't be part of life, with all its joys and pains, then you'll always be apart from life," Methos warned. "Alone. And that's no way to live."

"It's the only way I can survive," Jack said, then winked at him. "But I have no intention of being alone, not when there are so many gorgeous mean and women around to keep me company for a night. Speaking of which…" He picked up Methos' glass and drained the rest, then stood up. "Coming?"

Methos sighed but stood and followed him out.

************

"Stop me if you've heard this one," the man said, dropping into a seat across from Methos. "Two Immortals meet in a bar…"

Methos mock-glared at Jack and slouched back in his chair. "You need a better wristwatch, or a personal assistant to manage your schedule. Not once in fifty years have you managed to be on time."

Jack laughed and raised his glass in a toast. "This anal thing you have for time is amusing, especially considering that we have so much of it." The tone was slightly biter, as usual. "Condolences on your death, by the way."

Methos inclined his head graciously. "Your flowers were lovely, thanks."

"I must say, you're looking quite well for a dead man."

"Meet Adam Pierson, nephew to the late Pierce Adamson, and his sole heir," Methos said with a little flourish of his hand, revealing a blue tattoo on his wrist. "Scholar of ancient languages, educated at Oxford on Uncle Pierce's money, and now living in Paris."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "I see that your address isn't the only thing that's changed. You're a Watcher now? Are you out of your _mind_? Why would you do something like that?"

Methos shrugged. "What better way to keep tabs on other Immortals? As for the other changes – not all of us are part of a secret organization that can protect us when we don't change our names or identities for over a hundred years."

Jack went still. "You know about Torchwood. How?"

Methos gave him an incredulous look. "Pierce was in British Intelligence. Plus, Torchwood tried to recruit Adam out of Oxford. They struck me as being more than a little creepy, so why are _you_ working for them?"

Jack sighed. "They didn't give me much choice at the time. You know, an offer I couldn't refuse?"

"When was this?"

"A little over a hundred years ago, in 1869."

Methos frowned. "You mean that when you first met me, you were working for Torchwood? That your story about being a con man from the future was a con as well? You were already immortal?" Then his blood froze; maybe Jack's appearance in that alley hadn't been a lucky coincidence.

"Was this been a scam from the start? Has Torchwood been monitoring me? What's next – being whisked off to a secret lab for dissection and study?" As he spoke, he automatically scanned the patrons and the exits. Nothing seemed off, but then again, Torchwood was good.

Jack shook his head, holding up his hand reassuringly. "No. When I met you, I was just Jack Harkness, Time Agent, mortal. The incident that made me immortal also made me end up in the past. Our first reunion, when I was late? That was because it had been _eighty years_ since our first meeting and I had actually forgotten. It was chance that reminded me that night, and I was in Cardiff, so I had to drive like hell to get here."

"You could have stayed in Cardiff, let this remain forgotten," Methos said quietly.

Their eyes met across the table. "No, I couldn't," Jack said firmly. "I didn't want to then, and I don't want to now. The question is – do you trust me?"

Methos studied him for a moment, then smiled and reached across the table to take his hand. "Let's go to your room."

 

***************

"Adam!" A pint appeared in front of him, followed by Jack. He was smiling widely, as usual, but this time the smile made it all the way to his eyes.

Methos raised an eyebrow. "Well, well, well. It appears that young Mr. Harkness is in an exceptionally good mood."

"That's _Captain_ Harkness, and I'm not so young anymore."

Jack set a second pint down in front of his own seat, and Methos raised the other eyebrow. Since their first reunion, Jack hadn't drunk alcohol in public, although he'd tossed back plenty of whiskey when they were in private.

"I take it we're celebrating something?" He eyed Jack again, then smiled. "You found your doctor. Did he 'fix' you?"

Jack shook his head. "No; he told me how it happened, but he couldn't fix it. But we talked and…it helped. I've accepted what I am."

Methos smiled. "That's good. That's very good. But," he added shrewdly, "that's not all, is it?"

A soft smile touched Jack's lips and he shook his head. "No. The Doctor, and a certain young man, convinced me that you were right. That I needed to be part of life, with all its pain and joy. That I needed to love."

Methos reached out to touch Jack's hand. "I'm glad," he said simply. Then he picked up his glass and sat back in his chair saying, "I've taken my own advice as well."

Jack grinned. "So there's a Mrs. Pierson now?"

Methos laughed. "Duncan wouldn't take kindly to that if he heard you."

"Duncan? Sounds promising."

"A man, an irritating Scot, and an Immortal as well," Methos said with a rueful grin and took a sip of his beer. "God help me. First time for me, being married to an Immortal, but I think I like it. He's good for me – going to get me killed one day, with his damn idealistic crusades, but I'm enjoying the scenery along the way. But you don't want to hear about that, do you? Shall we go back to your room?"

Jack hesitated. "Actually, I'd rather stay here and talk, if you don't mind."

Methos raised an eyebrow. "Your young man has you on a short leash?"

Jack shook his head. "Actually, he doesn't have me on a leash at all. He doesn't expect me to be faithful to him."

"So naturally you feel that you have to be." Methos grinned. "He must be something very special."

"Oh, he is," Jack said, a fond, soft look in his eyes.

"So tell me all about this exceptional young man who has managed to capture the elusive Jack Harkness."

"Not so elusive," Jack said with a wry smile. "You've managed to hold my attention for seventy years. And don't think that I don't want to know all about this Duncan of yours. But first, let me tell you about how Ianto and I met. You see, there was this pterodactyl. Actually, he says it's a pteranodon and I expect he knows what he's talking about, but that's not the point. Although the actual first time we met, I was fighting off a weevil in the park…"

Methos smiled and slouched back in his chair, sipping on his beer and listening to Jack spin another of his tales. Next time, he thought, with the certainty that there would be a next time, he'd bring Duncan and ask Jack to bring Ianto. But for now, there was just him and Jack, as it had been for seventy years.

The End


End file.
